Chapter 11
Eleven
Winter woke slowly among the twisted blankets and pillows. He’d never been one to rest easily. His brothers frequently teased him that he battled his demons in his sleep. Luckily, he rarely remembered his dreams, so if that were true, he couldn’t recall any of those monsters.
At the very least, he’d finally gotten some good sleep in his own bed.
Yet, as he lay there, he realized something felt off.
The feeling had nagged him that morning as he walked around the house with Fox, but he thought it was just the witch being in his personal space.
He’d checked the security systems and video.
The only people to infiltrate his home were Bel and his wolves. No one else came near the building.
It had to be Fox.
Lying on his back, he continued to run through a mental checklist, but he was still coming up with nothing. There were no appointments or events he needed to remember. No burning items on his to-do list.
But this feeling of something missing continued to press on his brain.
With a huff, he threw off the covers and climbed out of bed.
He quickly pulled on a pair of sleep pants and a T-shirt before stepping into the hall.
He poked his head into Fox’s room, but it was empty.
Not that he was surprised. It was nearly seven in the evening.
He had probably been up for several hours.
Silently, he padded down the stairs to find the TV on with the sound turned almost to nothing.
Fox was on the couch, asleep. He was curled up in a ball with the blanket from his bed wrapped around him.
His fiery red hair stuck up in every direction against a throw pillow, and his features were relaxed in his sleep.
He looked so damn young like this, as if subtle lines of tension had been wiped away.
When he was awake and grinning at Winter, he couldn’t help noticing fine lines around his green eyes, as if there were some secret fear humming through him.
Was he expecting Winter to attack him all while putting on a brave facade?
Was all the flirting and teasing a way to mask his uncertainty or just ingratiate himself with Winter so the vampire wouldn’t kill him?
Disappointment sat heavy in his stomach.
It had been nice to think that Fox might be attracted to him.
But it made more sense that Fox was flirting to simply protect himself.
Winter knew he wasn’t exactly friendly and kind like Bel.
Definitely not sexy and carefree like Rafe.
Winter bit back a sigh. It was for the best if Fox wasn’t really interested in him.
Barely resisting the urge to reach down and run his fingers through Fox’s hair, he turned toward the kitchen.
He needed blood. Just a little nip to get him moving.
He shouldn’t need to hunt and feed for at least another week.
Preferably Fox would be gone before that happened.
For now, he wanted to keep the witch where he could see him, and he was not taking him along for a hunting expedition.
And there were too many reasons why Fox would never be a donor.
Though, now that the thought was dancing through his head, what little noises would he make if Winter were to sink his fangs into his neck?
Stifling a groan, Winter grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and snagged a bag of blood from the fridge. He had no type preference. He couldn’t taste any difference between them. His brother Rafe claimed O positive was the best, but Rafe was also full of shit.
He stood in the kitchen and quickly chugged his breakfast, staring out into the living room.
Apparently, he’d made enough noise that Fox was stirring.
His companion sat up and stretched one arm into the air while scratching his head with the other.
The yawn he released was big enough to practically crack his jaw.
And for some bizarre reason, Winter’s first thought was that he was adorable.
He was losing his mind. It had to be the quiet of his place. His loft was never this quiet.
The thought stopped him cold.
His home was never this quiet. There were always ghosts lingering about, passing through and moaning about something. Or simply confused about their current state or why they couldn’t find their goddamn keys. Whatever. The point was…ghosts were always around him.
But they weren’t now.
They hadn’t been since…
Cara. He’d talked to the ghost called Cara in Damon’s home. He’d seen them as he escaped Damon’s mansion with Fox.
But the second he left the dead world…nothing. No ghosts.
He placed the glass on the center island with a loud clink, causing Fox to jump. He twisted on the couch and graced Winter with a sleepy smile.
“Hey,” he called in a husky voice. But Winter couldn’t answer. His mind was full of questions, hopes, and other complicated emotions that he wasn’t ready to look too closely at just yet. But there was one question repeating over and over in his head.
Was this Fox’s doing?
Winter stood frozen in the kitchen, trying to remember any ghosts he saw in the world of the living prior to meeting Fox.
There hadn’t been many at the hotel he’d chosen, but there were a few.
One had lingered in the lobby, bitching about how the real flowers had been replaced with shitty silk fakes.
But when he walked through with Fox in tow later that night, he hadn’t noticed a damn one. There hadn’t been a single one on the drive to the hotel. Not in the hotel. And now, not one was in his home.
Fox pushed to his feet and crossed toward the kitchen. “You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I didn’t,” Winter replied softly.
For a second, Winter struggled to breathe.
He gripped the counter in front of him until his fingers ached.
Panic was rising like a tidal wave in his chest, threatening to pound him into the sand.
How was this possible? The voices had plagued him since he was a fucking child.
When he was reborn as a vampire, the voices became ghosts.
They were always there, no matter the time of day or where he was. Talking, talking, talking.
There were so few moments of pure, blissful silence when he could hear only his own thoughts. The only time he could get a reliable break was when he was driving. Night had passed with him spending hours in the car just to get away from it all.
But now, he was standing in his own home and there was just…silence.
A lump formed in his throat and squeezed his lungs.
His knees were trembling, threatening to dump him on his ass, but he didn’t care.
Hope fluttered in his chest, and he tried to squash it.
He was scared to hope that this might last. God, he’d take a night.
He longed for longer, but he would be grateful for just one night.
He wanted this more than air.
More than blood.
But it was too good to be true.
Winter’s eyes snapped to Fox as a new thought slammed into his brain.
If this was Fox’s doing, was this how he destroyed his family?
Did he slowly steal away Winter’s powers?
Or would the ghosts offer up some critical warning that would otherwise save the Variks, but Winter would now miss it because of Fox?
Clenching his teeth against a scream of frustration and pain, Winter glared at Fox. “Is this your doing?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The ghosts. I can’t see the ghosts! Did you do this?” Winter shouted, panic starting to overwhelm the tenuous hold on his control.
Fox held up his open hands, stepping away from the breakfast bar, as if he were afraid to get any closer to Winter. “I haven’t done anything. I just woke up.”
Winter balled his hands into fists and made himself plant his feet. He didn’t trust himself not to come around the bar and grab the other man. Simply shake the information he needed out of him. “No, this started when we were still in Virginia. Before we even reached the hotel. What did you do?”
Shaking his head, Fox took another step backward. “I haven’t done anything. I swear.”
Fox claimed he couldn’t do any spells or significant magic, but this was a big fucking deal. It had to be the witch’s doing.
But how?
How would he even know that Winter could see and speak to the dead? It wasn’t something he’d told anyone.
And why this? If he meant to hurt Winter, why would he do this?
Unless he somehow knew this was how Winter got much of his dirt on the other vampires. The silence was pure bliss, but it undermined Winter’s ability to protect his family. This was his edge over the other vampires. It was how he knew who was plotting and scheming against the Variks.
Would this grow worse? Would he lose his ability to step in the world of the dead completely?
Fox had to be doing this. Winter swayed a little and caught the edge of the counter with one hand. Why would Fox willingly do this to him? Pain twisted in his gut like he’d been stabbed, and he pressed his free hand there.
“Please, talk to me, Winter. I don’t understand what’s going on,” Fox pleaded.
“Don’t you?” Winter replied. He moved out of the kitchen so that the breakfast bar no longer separated them.
Fox wavered, rocking a little on his feet, as if he were fighting the urge to backpedal.
The witch met his gaze with worry and confusion in his eyes, but not fear.
Part of Winter wanted to believe him. They’d laughed together.
Fox had flirted so sweetly, and there was just something so vulnerable in his manner that Winter wanted to protect the man.
Had he been taken in by a cunning act, so he’d drop his guard?
“What have you done to the ghosts? Is this a spell?” he asked, somehow managing to keep his voice low and even while panic sloshed around his soul.
“Winter, I swear I’ve cast only one tiny spell since we’ve been together, and that was to get out of the handcuffs that first morning. That’s it. I don’t know magic.”